


Place to Rest Your Head

by ornategrip



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornategrip/pseuds/ornategrip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank didn't need kindness but Foggy made him want it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Place to Rest Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iraya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iraya/gifts).



> For the lovely iraya, inspired by [this wonderful drawing!](http://iraya.tumblr.com/post/147521915424)
> 
> Takes place some point during A Dog's Life

Frank didn’t need kindness.

He didn’t need comfort or warmth or a place to rest his head.

All he needed was his guns and a target.

That was how it should be.

And yet, time after time he found himself back in this place, this building, this apartment. When he was tired, aching, bruised and battered, this was the place he wanted to go back to. When he was so tired his feet felt like lead, he still found himself heading back, placing one heavy foot in front of the other even if he had safe houses that were closer.

He should have known, back in the beginning, before he had even considered the thought of wanting him. When he’d come to Foggy’s empty apartment in the middle of the day, to sleep in his bed and soak in the comfort of a lived-in home.

He had told himself it was just to check on Max, that he had a responsibility and Frank Castle was a man who followed through. He had honestly thought he was beyond lying to himself, that he had been stripped of such niceties when that bullet had gone through his skull. He hadn’t thought he still had it in him. Any of it.

He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching Foggy stretched out in the bed, wearing a pink t-shirt that Frank knew was butter soft to the touch. Most of Foggy’s casual clothes were about comfort over style, a collection of soft things that cocooned and soothed. When Frank did the laundry he always dragged his hands, rough and ragged things that they were, across Foggy’s clothes as he folded them.

Catching that bit of softness, at least for a little while.

Foggy still hadn’t noticed him, too focused on his phone screen, lips pursed at whatever he was watching. Something Frank knew he should be more bothered by, should try to train him out of. That Foggy could be so damn oblivious of his surroundings even after all the things he knew lurked in the dark. Foggy had seen the darkness just like Frank had and Frank understood what that meant.

Foggy was stronger than the dark, stronger than Frank, because he faced the darkness and stayed good.

It would be better if Foggy was more suspicious, more alert and paranoid. It would be safer. But Frank wasn’t going to be the one who broke him down, who made him fear. And that was okay, Frank was there to watch Foggy’s back if he didn’t have the sense to watch it himself.

Frank would take care of Foggy.

Max finally lifted his head, stretched out next to Foggy as he was. He looked at Frank and wagged his tail, too lazy to do much more. The movement caused Foggy to glance away from his phone, entire face brightening when his eyes landed on Frank.

“Hey!” he said, cheerful, “When did you get here? Did you eat? There’s left over pasta in the fridge.”

He went on, chattering easily, not put off by Frank’s silence. He never was and he never asked stupid questions or pried, just accepted whenever Frank didn’t want to talk.

He stepped into the bedroom, ignoring Foggy’s inquisitive noises and the thump of Max’s tail.

He climbed into the bed, crawling up it and Foggy automatically spread his legs, allowed Frank to settle in the vee of his body. Making space for him, like he always did. Doing it so easily as if he wasn’t afraid that all of Frank’s rough, sharp edges would cut and slice him open.

And he was so soft, so defenseless, all rounded edges and tender give. Frank could do so much damage without even meaning to, could destroy him with a careless wave of his hand. He’d never mean to, not when it came to Foggy.

The part of him that had loved Maria was dead. The part of him that loved his children would live forever, just to grieve. But now there was a new part of him, coming painfully to life, struggling against all the other dead parts of Frank. Making him feel, making him hurt. Making him love.

He didn’t deserve comfort, warmth or a place to rest his head. But he craved it all the same and here was Foggy offering all of it to him and asking for nothing in return.

“Hotshot,” he breathed against Foggy’s stomach and Foggy’s hand came down to rest against his scalp, his pinky brushing along his ear. Frank reached up to touch Foggy’s arm, just a brush of his fingers to complete the circuit. After a moment, Foggy went back to his phone.

Frank rested his head.


End file.
